The Dark Brother
by Musical Nykiz
Summary: Murtagh meets a woman who may change his miserable life - and his future. Collab. Murtagh: Music10111 and OC: Nykizta . Rated T for themes and safety.
1. Red Dawn

_A/N: Hey, folks. Music10111 here. This fanfic is actually a collab - me and Nykizta planned and wrote this out roleplay-style, then Nykizta compiled it and I edited it. Hope you enjoy! _

_Our plan is to post biweekly. That may or may not happen, as I'm sure everyone is well aware, but we shall do our best. _

_Disclaimer: Neither of us is CP. Murtagh is CP's (though both of us certainly wish he was ours!), but Sarai belongs to Nykizta. I got nothing. Well, except for Thorn's kick-ass personality and about half of the plot devices that we are using. _

_I feel like I was supposed to say something else, but I'm tired. Sorry, Nykizta, you can change this if you want. Oh, I remember! Read and Review! See y'all again later when I update one of my two in-progress fanfics. _

_

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**Chapter 1**  
Red Dawn

It was halfway through the flight back to Uru'baen when Murtagh expressed his discontent.

Having just released Eragon and Saphira from the spell which had bound them to one place, the red Rider re-opened his mind to the task of constantly scanning the minds of those around him, searching for any who might pose a threat to Emperial forces. Not a favored task, but one that he was required to do. Just as killing Hrothgar had been. He constantly remembered the haunting oaths he had been made to say:

_"Good. Murtagh, what is it that you will be doing for me today?"_

_"I will aid the Empire with my magic and my Eldunari. I will strike down the first leader I see. I will try to capture Eragon and Saphira. I will not attack the Empire. I will not kill myself, Thorn, Eragon, or Saphira."_

Still, despite the loss that he had faced, there had been high points in the conflict. Like seeing the fear on Eragon's face when he'd been bested. Telling Eragon about their shared heritage. Then he had taken Zar'roc, which was rightfully his anyway. The red blade always had been his. After all, he was _**Du Zar'roc Edoc'csil**_ - The Unconquerable Misery. Such a weapon as his father's, who was the champion of misery, seemed fitting.

He touched Thorn's mind with his own. Innocent, young Thorn. How ironic that the dragon of Murtagh would be so sweet and kind. Well, not exactly 'sweet and kind', but as close as one could get in the personality of a dragon.

Especially one who was so fearsome-looking as Thorn.

Speaking of Thorn... _Murtagh, are you okay?_ The young dragon, who was only about six months old, sounded very worried. He was horrible at trying to hide his feelings in his thought-speak voice. And he never called Murtagh 'little one' because, in his mind, he was still about twice the size of a horse. That was what he was supposed to be at this point in his life. _You aren't speaking._

_Everything's fine, Thorn_, Murtagh told him. _We have Zar'roc and we accomplished everything that Galbatorix asked of us._ He was much better at shielding his thoughts from Thorn. He did not allow his anxiety or his doubts seep through.

_That was fun._ Thorn showed Murtagh many, many mental images of Saphira. Saphira flying, Saphira biting his tail, Saphira clawing at his belly. _She was pretty._

Murtagh's anxiety didn't stop him from grinning. _You know she's your enemy, right?_ Thorn probably had forgotten. The dragon may have started to believe that the Battle of Burning Plains was actually just a play-date and that Murtagh and Eragon were simply sparring. After all, that was the only sort of conflict that Thorn had envisioned between the two through Murtagh's thoughts.

_Yes._ But Thorn couldn't hide his desire or his continued thoughtstream.

_You just keep hoping, my friend._ What he didn't add was, _As will I._

...

Thorn landed at the castle in Uru'baen. Familiar scenery for the red dragon. His birthplace.

Murtagh slid down to meet the approaching platoon of soldiers. They didn't look happy. "Where's the other Rider?" the Captain wanted to know. His face looked cross, and his thoughts were well-shielded, to Murtagh's dismay. "Galbatorix is waiting to see him."

Murtagh glared, lowering his chin in rebellion. "We tried to capture Eragon and Saphira, but we failed."

They were taken to Galbatorix's throne room. The mad king sat upon his throne, wearing a look of rage. Obviously, the ill news had traveled ahead. "So. You _tried_ to capture Eragon and _failed_." His face could have melted stone.

"Yes."

"_Du Zar'roc Edoc'sil_, show me your thoughts." At the use of his True Name, Murtagh shuddered and felt his mental barriers force down. He had no choice. Then Galbatorix laid bare his thoughts and feelings for the entire night. How he had regretted, feared, and eventually won. And then released Eragon anyhow. When he reemerged from the depths of Murtagh's mind, he looked fit to punch babies. "So. You denied me everything. You released the ones who could have given you triumph and a spot in history forever."

_Not the spot in history that I would care to have._ "Yes." Was he capable of saying anything else anymore?

"Then you shall feel my wrath." Murtagh closed his eyes. He knew what was about to happen. It had happened before, when Galbatorix had first captured him. And now, again, he would be destroyed and rebuilt into a new man.

And then he was on the floor, the only noises his own screams and Thorn's, both calling "Murtagh!"

And then other voices called to him. _Murtagh murtagh murmurmurtagh Murtamurtagh Murtagh_. An endless stream of noise, growing louder and louder until he no longer could hear himself.

And then he realized that he didn't know who Murtagh was. And he didn't know himself.

The void was pressing on his mind like a pendelum.

And then it was over.

A hand, cool and burning, stung his bloodied stomach. "Waise heill," whispered a distant voice, and some of the pain disappeared. Not all, but enough to where the voices calling 'Murtaghmurtaghmurtagh' were no longer audible.

Someone was carrying him. And then, as something soft pressed against his back, he could feel no more. 

* * *

Sarai waited with her head down as some men passed, one of them being carried. She began to wonder why, then sighed as she carried a bucket of water and a few rags to the throne room. It wasn't her place to wonder, and if it was, she doubted whether or not she wanted to know. Living in Uru'baen was hardly a walk through meadow of flowers, and it was no less difficult, if not worse, working in the castle. Sarai was lucky she was so talented at escaping notice, but she wasn't a fool. You couldn't live in this castle as a maid and not know the possibilities, not to mention the reality that one day her luck would likely fail her.

She shook off her morbid thoughts, not wanting to throw herself into such a mood before the end of the day when she could retire to her bedroll. Taking one of the rags, she dunked it in the water as she wiped down the throne room floor, making sure to get all of the gore, making sure to thoroughly clean the stones as she delved into any memory that she could to keep from thinking too much about her job.

Unfortunately, her mind landed upon nostalgic memories, things she generally tried to keep tucked away. They had long since stopped causing her pain to recall, but she still worried for the well-being of her mother, though it was not in her power to do anything about it or even know if the woman was still alive. Sarai sighed and let herself slip into the memories, not wanting to think about her worries.

...

_Sarai tried to keep her smile hidden as she watched her father disappear on horseback. She knew her momma was happy too, but Momma didn't like to show it and always told Sarai it was wrong, though she wasn't quite sure why. When her father left, the pain stopped and everything was fun again for a little while. Plus, her momma always smiled more when he wasn't home. Even a seven year old could notice the difference._

...

_The nine year old Sarai looked out the window from the loft of the barn next to her house, catching glimpses of her father occasionally as he stormed through the house. It wouldn't be long before he realized she wasn't hiding in the house, which only left him one place to look._

_He'd been angry even since he'd left the army and her and her mother paid for it daily. He'd already been home almost ten months and his anger seemed to be growing rather than fading like the neighbors said it would. Sarai had the bruises and scars to prove it. He had never turned on her until a few months ago when she'd protected her mother. Since then, Sarai had become the preferred target. _

_Her mother had had to go to market, so in the early morning before her father had woken, she had hidden Sarai in the barn, promising to be back before her father realized where she was._

_As Sarai watched her father storm out of the house towards her hiding place, she knew her mother couldn't keep that promise._

...

_Sarai was shaken awake by hurried hands, begging the ten year old to wake up quickly. As she looked at her mother, she was given no answers, merely shoved into a grubby dress and shoved outside._

"_Hurry or they'll leave!" her mother pleaded, a hysterical edge to her voice._

_Sarai quickened her pace, still confused. Her father had left at the beginning of the week to chase a lead on rejoining the army and since then her mother had seemed occupied rather than happy. She guessed whatever this proved to be was the cause._

_After rushing to the outskirts of town, Sarai found herself being bustled into the back of a cart with several other girls and women. Looking back, expecting her mother to be beside her, her brows furrowed as she watch a man close the gate on the back of the cart, her mother still on the other side._

_Sarai watched as her mother faded away with no parting words. She just stared back towards her hometown from her seat in the cart, having no idea where she was headed._

...

Sarai sighed as she looked at her finished work, before standing to leave. It had been a long while before she'd let herself think of her past and she'd wished it had been longer, but she couldn't do anything about that.

Leaving the throne room and heading to the supply room, she rinsed out her bucket and rags before placing them amongst the others, grateful for the lack of thoughts running through her mind now. Having finished her immediate chores, she wandered back to the maids' quarters and made her way to her cot. She sat down and leaned against the wall, letting herself drift until she was needed.

* * *

Murtagh woke up in pain. His muscles all ached horribly, while his mind seemed leeched of all rational thought. However, the most noticeable result of his recent session with his master was a burning pain on his back. This, of course, was displayed most prominently when he tried to roll over onto his back - but was stopped by searing pain.

He yelled. There was nothing for it.

Once he managed to get onto his stomach, which was relatively scar-free, he ran a coarse hand over his back, which had no clothing on it. Obviously, someone had removed his shirt at some point. This allowed him to run his fingers over the welts. Galbatorix had branded him. Probably with either his family symbol or something that would symbolize 'traitor'.

Ouch.

He heard footsteps in the stone corridor outside his quarters. He lay there in sullen silence, hoping that whoever it was would get by quickly so he could drift away into sleep.

Unfortunately, he did not get his wish. The noise increased as his door creaked open and the men's boots made an even greater racket as they echoed in the small room. "Morzansson, we have orders to take you to get a personal assistant due to your recent injuries."

"Injuries?" Murtagh sat up, wincing in pain. "As if they were an accident... Sounds like the Mad One. I don't need any help."_ Go away_. He thought the last comment, since it would make things worse for himself, and he didn't think that he could physically handle any more pain.

"It wasn't an option." He groaned as the sturdy hands grabbed each of his biceps and pulled him - still shirtless - to his feet. Then he was frogmarched to the maids' quarters. "Pick one. Pick wisely. You'll be stuck with her for company for a long time." The guard was amused.

Murtagh was not. He turned away, crossed his arms, and glared at the guard with a sullen look on his face. He made sure to keep his new brand-marks away from the ladies. They had probably seen enough ugly features of a man's body.

The guard looked at him sideways. He was marked now; any other man would have instantly searched the room for the most attractive maid, or the easiest, and chosen her to be his 'personal assistant'.

But Murtagh refused. After a moment of awkward silence, he sidled out of the room, the pouted all the way back to his quarters. He wasn't going to accept unnecessary help. Not if his life depended upon it. Except for the fact that that particular situation would be 'necessary help', and he might grudgingly accept the assistance.


	2. Beautiful Idiot

_Hey, all! Music10111 again. I'm updating this week again. Strange, ain't it? Oh, well, Nykizta will probably have to post next time, since I'll be out of town. I know that everyone is going to miss me dearly._

_As usual, I own nothing, except perhaps my own portrayal of Thorn's personality. Nykizta only owns Sarai and all the creepy guards. CP owns Murtagh, Galbatorix, Uru'baen, Alagaesia, etc. And Shakespeare owns __Romeo and Juliet__, even though he didn't live in Alagaesia._

_With that... I give thee Chapter Two!_

…

**Chapter 2**

Beautiful Idiot

One of the head maids suddenly started barking at the girls in the room, ordering them to sit on the cots and shut up, putting it nicely. Sarai, startled out of her stupor, absently wondering how long she'd be sitting there. If her stiff legs were any indication, it had been a while.

As the sounds in the room fell to soft murmurs and whispers, the entire room waited, half anticipating, half dreading whatever they were being readied for. Occasionally, soldiers higher up on the food chain would come to pick 'personal maids' or partners for anywhere from a night to a week. Occasionally, the girl came back. To avoid being picked, Sarai had intentionally positioned herself against the opposite wall from the door. It made sure whoever was picking found someone suitable before considering her.

The entire room tensed as the clang of soldiers' boots echoed down the hall and a few men appeared in the doorway. Several of the women in the room stifled gasps as they realized one the men was shirtless. She wondered if there were more women glaring or adolescent girls swooning. The man was hardly without appeal, but there was something vaguely familiar about him and the man she'd seen while on her way to her earlier chore flashed through her mind. It was possible.

It seemed to Sarai like the men in the doorways were at odds, and her instincts proved correct as the shirtless one left the doorway. One of the soldiers grunted in irritation and went after the man. Another looked over the room before pointing at _her_ and beckoning her to him. She was suddenly grateful for the years being a servant in this castle. They made obedience second nature to her, as her mind was quite busy stuttering.

As she reached the doorway, the soldier just turned and hurried after the other two, and she was left trying to keep up. She was absolutely shocked. It had finally happened.

Her luck had finally run out.

...

Sarai thanked her years of disguising her emotions as she practically ran behind the guards. She wanted to throw her shoe at their thick heads and then proceed to rail them into next week about how much they're lacking in manners... But she couldn't exactly do that, know could she? Instead, she trotted behind them, feigning blatant obedience.

She'd become almost completely lost in her thoughts, coming dangerously close to running into the back of the guards. Of course, as soon as she came to a stop, she was thrust into the doorway.

In the room was the man she'd spotted, but now she knew why he was topless. He moved too much for her to get a good look, but it looked like a burn or some sort of wound. Except it seemed to be bleeding. As he put on his tunic, she couldn't quite hold back a wince, a vague echo of his. With the wound covered, she briefly regretted not not admiring what she could when his shirt was off before mentally berating herself for it. He was definitely handsome, but it wasn't her place to make observations unless he asked for them. She was only a maid, and now she was his personal maid.

...

Murtagh knew that the guard would be following him. That didn't stop him. He was pissed, and in no small way. He was perfectly well aware that the other guard would still pick out a maid for him; offering the choice had probably just been courtesy on his part. Still, he didn't regret getting away.

Once he was safely back in his room, he enjoyed the solitude, if only for a moment. He left the bed a mess and turned to tending to his latest wound. Glancing in the spattered mirror, he twisted around, gazing at the brand mark, which conveniently had been placed over Morzan's old scar wound and employed the scar in its design.

Cute.

He was dabbing up spots of blood from it when the door opened again. There stood the two guards and his newest captor.

He had to admit; from first glance, she was very pretty. Her dark eyes held a matching expression, and her hair was about the same color as his own, a dark brown. And he _loved_ his hair.

_Stupid slut,_ he thought. What a little idiot. She had a job as a maid. Did she really think that this would never happen? Did she believe that she would escape unscathed from Galbatorix's notice? He had heard stories of the maids of Uru'baen. Of the unholy uses to which they were put.

She was lucky. And supremely unlucky. She had him as her master. Honorable, focused Murtagh. He wouldn't give her the time of day.

But, she had him as her master. Angry, sullen Morzansson. He might give in to his father's old demons and give her a wound that would make her regret being born.

Of course, he said none of this. Instead, he turned away, throwing on a loose tunic and wincing when it brushed the injury. Then he glanced back at her. "What's your name?" he said in a surprisingly level voice, still frowning.

Not realizing until too late that she hadn't answered his question fast enough, one of the guards shoved the girl into the room. She couldn't restrain the fleeting grimace that crossed her face as she stumbled in, almost tripping. 

"I'm Sarai, sir," she answered obediently, her eyes downcast as she bored holes into the stone just inches before her feet, wishing many inventive, painful deaths to the soldiers near the door. She bowed slightly, not quite sure what she was supposed to do, never having been tasked to a specific person before. The anger apparent in his actions earlier flashed through her mind and she closed her eyes, hoping earnestly that it was a self contained type.

Murtagh, sorry and sad for the girl that now had to look after his needs, mentally sighed but maintained his posture. Honor and pride. The only two things that he could keep, since Galbatorix knew his True Name. Quite the unfortunate situation.

And she was afraid. Staring at the ground, closing her eyes. He earnestly hoped that it was because she was new to this entire situation, rather than he appearing scary. Although, based on his little tantrum earlier, she probably was afraid of him.

No matter. She was stuck with him. He could fix that impression. "Welcome, Sarai," he said in the weariest tone he could muster. "I'm Murtagh. I suppose that the King has seen fit to supply me with a maid." He glanced around the room; it was relatively clean, but the only light came from a narrow window at the far side of the room. The side closest to the door felt cramped and unclean.

So he continued speaking. "The washroom's behind that curtain," he told Sarai, "and you'll need to get some sort of sleeping apparatus to put next to the window. Unless, of course, you fancy sleeping in the same bed as me, which I can imagine you do not." He let the dry joke slip out of his mouth; hopefully it would lighten the air a bit. "You can go," he added in passing to the guards, who left with a nasty look at Sarai.

Then Murtagh wasn't sure what to do. He had been resting before, but that was out of the question now. "You can tend to moving anything you might need to your space," he said, before pulling a slender novel off the bookshelf and sitting down at his desk. If he couldn't be happy in this world, maybe he would lose himself in another one.

...

Sarai had slowly raised her head after opening her eyes to look at Murtagh. His earlier rage seemed to have subsided. The thought made her smile. This might actually be a pleasant arrangement.

Her eyes followed him as he crossed to the desk and she let herself look him over a moment. He was definitely attractive. Dark, shortish medium-length hair stopping a couple inches above toned shoulders. If he was actually serious about the offer of sharing a bed, she wasn't sure she'd refuse.

And then she stopped herself. She acknowledged he was attractive – and that was where it had to end. If she let her thoughts get away with her, she was going to be in big trouble.

Suddenly full of nervous energy, Sarai darted about the room. It wasn't overly dirty, just a few things here and there needing to be picked up. She didn't think it would be a good idea to dust while Murtagh was in the room, so she would just wait on that. It barely took a minute for her to finish picking up the little things, so she headed into the washroom before heading straight back out, realizing she should probably get her sleeping situation together first.

Thinking about it, she decided to head back to the maids' quarters to get the few things she had.

Stepping so she was a decent distance away, but still pretty he could see her movement in his peripheral, she bowed slightly. "I'm going to get my bedding and belongings. I'll be back shortly," she said quietly before slipping out of the chamber.

Sarai hurried down the corridors, glad she seemed to remember the way she came. Sort of. She got lost once, but it had only taken her a few moments to find her way back to the maids' room. She zipped through the cots and bedrolls until she reached her own, trying to ignore the whispers and stares from the few maids without a task. She kept her head down as she folded up the bedding on the cot. She considered bring the cot but didn't want the hassle of taking it all the way to Murtagh's room. As she tucked her bedding under her arm, she reached down to grab a small bundle wrapped loosely in twine before heading back out the door.

She found her way back this time without getting lost. She quietly slipped in the door, bowing to Murtagh before making her way to the spot under the window he'd indicated was where Sarai was to sleep. Placing the bundle near the wall, she laid out the bed roll partially over the bundle. After laying out the few sheets and blankets she had, she sighed. She had a bad feeling about this, but she wasn't quite sure why.

Standing up, she went to the washroom and started working.

...

Murtagh acknowledged Sarai's departure from the room and turned back to his reading. Although, he was carefully considering switching to a more informational book or an adventure story, because the volume he had pulled off his shelf happened to be a romance.

_'Romeo, oh Romeo, wherefore art thou?_' read the red Rider, smirking slightly. This was ridiculous. The stupid girl had immediately fallen for this 'Romeo' fellow, who happened to be flighty and overly emotional. Not an honorable man at all.

He continued reading through several more passages. In this time, Sarai must have entered the room, because he heard noise by the window and then in the wash room. However, he had just read something that made him stare.

_'What's in a name? That which we call a rose, by any other name would smell as sweet.'_

"Barzul," he muttered stonily, staring at the page in frustration. Whoever had written that manuscript obviously had never heard of True Names.

Still, maybe it was true. For all things except for someone called Morzansson, at least.

_Murtagh_. The man jumped, then realized that it was just Thorn, speaking to him in his childish mental voice. _I think that the King is coming to speak with you._

Murtagh let a curse slip through his lips. Unaware of where Sarai was, he called out, "Galbatorix will be here shortly. You may want to vacate the room." He then fixed up himself. He tossed the play out the window. He didn't have time for romantic thoughts, such as that contained within.


End file.
